


The Surgeon

by FoxLight



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Gen, Injury, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18452507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxLight/pseuds/FoxLight
Summary: In the aftermath of Gunmar's defeat, Arcadia continues to struggle, bringing new challenges to an already "rocky" relationship.





	The Surgeon

**Author's Note:**

> For a3rie, who recently needed cheering. Sorry this is so late.

“Barbara, love, for a doctor, you’re not very good at sitting still.” Walter said as he leaned over the examination table, wings drawn tightly against his back. He gently tugged her leg down flat against the metallic surface.

She’d been fidgeting the whole time beneath the hanging crystals above her, hesitant to believe that this was the best way to approach her injury. Of course, given the mysterious circumstances, he could hardly blame her. Days prior, they’d run into a band of stragglers fighting for revenge against Gunmar’s defeat, and although they’d escaped intact, she’d suffered a few nicks and scrapes. At first, all seemed well, until she returned home from work one night with a stitch in her side. Suspecting a strained muscle, she’d traveled upstairs to take a shower. Walter had barely managed to sit before a great thud resounded through the ceiling. 

“Barbara?” He’d called out, but there was no response.

Bolting up the staircase, he’d found her slumped and groaning against the rim of the tub as the shower head rained down. In one swoop, he’d grabbed her, tossed a bathrobe around her body, and all but ran out the door before he took flight, setting his course toward the only place he knew they could find help: the former Janus Order’s headquarters. After mourning his brethren, Walter had employed the remaining goblins (in exchange for housing and protection) to gut the place out, and had worked alongside them to rebuild it anew, transforming into a haven for changelings and their familiars alike. One-fourth of the underground territory had been converted into a state-of-the-art nursery to care for the two-thousand some-odd babies that had been extracted from the cradle-stone. The remaining space had been dedicated to various projects: re-establishing their former surveillance and communications systems, erecting warehouses for salvaged resources from the former Trollmarket, designing training rooms, armories, and--his latest pride—constructing a sanctuary for displaced changelings. Of the latter projects, many were still in their fledgling stages, and only the nursery could boast a fully finished interior-- it was toward this that Walter rushed upon arrival. 

One Doctor Amar Mitra, a changeling he’d recently rescued from a group of rogue trolls, had jolted into action, setting all manner of human and trollish tools to work in an attempt to diagnose what was wrong. Now, they waited for results. 

The glowing crystals above her swung in small circles while her IV dripped away--just saline, for now, but the changeling doctor had promised to return with something “a little bit stronger.”

“If this was a hospital,” Barbara countered, though calmed with his grip, “I’d know what to expect, but since this is a troll thing--or at least we think it is--I’m flying blind. I just want to understand what I’m dealing with so I can help make some sort of call.”

“And you will. I know, once again, that this goes against everything you’ve been taught in your world, but Dr. Mitra is not just a babysitter. He _was_ a human surgeon before he lost his ability to shift. You can trust his knowledge.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to trust your fellow changelings?”

He chuckled. “I shouldn’t fraternize with humans either, for that matter.”

“Well, you’re long past that, sweetcakes.” She reached to pinch his cheek, smile lopsided, until a grimace overcame it. “Ow.”

“Barbara--”

“I’m fine.” she waved her hand before he could cluck over her. “Why would he choose a field like that, anyways?”

Yellow eyes shot her a look before he continued. “Unlike most of my brethren, Amar has never been a killer. He absolutely refused to take a life. Instead of having him executed for his insolence, as Bular wanted, I persuaded the Order to assign him to a position that would best suit his natural inclinations. Being a doctor in his area was politically advantageous, and much like my own profession, it allowed him to sink his claws deep into the foundation of the surrounding community. By day he could uphold the Hippocratic Oath, and by night he could provide us with crucial intel; it was the perfect solution.”

“Didn’t you catch any flak for keeping him alive?”

“There were so many of us back then, the son of Gunmar could hardly keep track. It was easy to distract him with some other dalliance. My goal, and secretly the Order’s goal, has always been to keep our kind intact. Of course, that became increasingly difficult as time went on, and then Gunmar--” he swallowed. “Well, there are a few of us yet. We are fortunate to have found Mitra, at the very least. He has proven to be a crucial element within the nursery. Without him, we’d be drowning in diapers.”

“Can’t argue there,” she nodded, shifting beneath the wool-like cloth she’d been given against the chill. “Agh,” she clutched beneath her rib cage, and winced as the next wave overcame her. 

A green hand came over hers. How much he wished this pain was his to bear instead. Damn those short-horned rebels.

Not all of Gunmar’s followers had been brainwashed into servitude, and upon the Dark Master’s death, those who hadn’t instantly turned to ashes sought vengeance for their loss. Certainly, what was left of the changelings seemed split two ways against this new era of “peace.” Less could be said of the Trolls, but and even some members of the former Trollmarket had been swayed by Ursurna’s conviction, and remained loyal to her cause postmortem. Walter saw their dilemma. It was difficult to follow the fledgling leadership of a child who had not all his life been a troll--especially one who upheld a magical office bestowed upon him by a wizard who was, once again, not a troll. Many craved the day when trollkind could be led entirely by the sway of it’s own hand. The changelings sought a similar path, save that their contempt was better rooted in jealousy than disdain for mankind. For so long, his entire race had enjoyed a life beneath both moon and sun, and now the latter had been ripped away. Of those few handfuls who had not attended the celebration (turned execution) of Gunmar’s return in Arcadia, nearly a third had died of sun exposure once the children had been rescued from the Darklands. None of it would have happened without the Trollhunter’s intervention. 

They didn’t see what he saw—that Gunmar would have slain them anyways, that Morgana cared little for their race beyond its utility against Merlin, and that humans had the capacity to grant them a life trollkind never would. Still, he couldn’t set aside the nagging feeling that it was _his_ fault so many of his brethren were dust. If he’d been a better leader, less focused on his own survival…

Her hand squeezed his as she breathed through the searing throbs, tugging his mind back to the present. 

“It’s okay,” he said, wiping away stray locks caught in the perspiration on her forehead before he kissed her brow, careful not to nick her with his tusks. “We’ll soon have an answer. The crystals are nearly done.” 

“I’m about to take myself to the surface.” She said shakily, almost under her breath. “The hospital has a whole battery of equipment and people. This is just one guy, and we’re hundreds of feet underground...”

“Mitra has been in practice for centuries,” he assured her. “If anyone can help us, it is him. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t believe that.”

Facets danced within the yellow of his eyes as he watched her body shivering in the aftermath of the pain, but just as he was about to rise and fetch the doctor, a tall changeling with goldenrod skin stepped into the room, metal tray in hand.

“Sorry for the delay,” Dr. Mitra rumbled, voice toned and even, she stubs of his cut-off horns shining in the light. “We had a bit of a time tracking down one of the children who’d escaped her crib. All is well now.”

On the tray sat a fluid-filled syringe and a strange-looking pair of rounded spectacles that Barbara reasoned she might have seen in a museum. 

“This should help you, Ms. Lake.” Mitra slipped the fluid into her IV line, then tossed it as he lifted the spectacles to his face. They made his glowing orange eyes looks twice as large. Meticulously, he began to inspect each crystal, humming in disappointment or curiosity, until his claws curled around a jagged hunk of clear quartz. 

“Ah,” the changeling doctor said whimsically, turning the shard as he inspected it. “It’s an embryo.”

Barbara did a double-take. “Excuse me?”

“--come again?” Walter spoke at the same time.

“Walt, I thought you were-ow!” Barbara yelped, having attempted to rise again.

“Darling...” Walter gently pushed her back down. 

Dr. Mitra looked between the two of them, somewhat in bewilderment. “What’s the…Oh!” the doctor held up a hand, shaking his head. “Oh! Nonono, not _yours_ , sorry. A parasitic embryo. Well, technically human embryo’s _are_ parasitic, but this is not your baby.”

“Oh,” she sank back into her pillow, hand on her head. “God--wait, what is it?” She shot back up. “And _where_ is it?”

Walter’s tense wings relaxed, whether in relief or disappointment, she couldn’t tell.

This time, it was Mitra who guided her back down. He pressed a hand lightly against her abdomen, prodding here and there. “Just below your navel, outside of your abdominal wall.” He traced a circle with his finger. “It’s not big enough to cause a bump yet, but the embryo secretes a certain amount of fluid around it’s body to protect itself, like a slimy shell, which is an irritant. Every time it replenishes that fluid, it is causing you pain.”

“It’s a Trycolous, isn’t it?” Walter said with widened eyes. 

“Yes,” Mitra nodded, “a creature I haven’t seen in centuries. Quite rare--more than quite. It’s use in biological warfare was put to rest centuries ago, or so we thought. The species was more or less driven to extinction by trollkind. Someone, somewhere has kept them alive.”

Barbara watched Walter’s wings twitch in agitation.

“It’s much like a leech, in shape,” the yellow changeling continued, filling Barbara in, “but, of course, it’s larger, and has a much thicker hide.”

“Great, sounds like something out of _Earth Invaders._ ” She groaned. “Can you take it out?”

“Yes,” the doctor hesitated, looking at her, “but we need to immobilize the little beast before I remove it. It’ll put up too much of a fight, otherwise.”

“How do we achieve that?” Walter eyed him. 

“The antidote to kill your new passenger is toxic to humans. You are in luck, however. Changelings are engineered to be resistant to such creatures, and they share human DNA. I may be able to create a serum from Stricklander’s blood and inject it directly into the parasites’s body. If I use a small enough needle, it’s unlikely to notice the prick, and if any leakage occurs, your reaction to the serum should be minimal compared to that of the standard antidote. Once injected, the creature will fall ill, and somewhere within twenty-four hours it should be weak enough to extract.”

“And what if I have a reaction? What if the needle irritates it? You aren’t equipped to handle a worst-case scenario here.”

“I’d like to say you were wrong, Doctor but you’re not.” Mitra tapped his claw against the table. “Either this goes perfectly, or it doesn’t go at all.”

“I’m not sure I like those odds.” Barbara shook her head.

“If I had an operating room, or at least a team...” Mitra sighed. “Whoever did this to you very much knew what they were doing. They knew we lacked the proper resources to help you. What they don’t know is that _I’m_ here. This is the best chance you’ve got. It’s not ideal, but let’s keep our heads up. We can at least get the serum going before we discuss matters further. I need to head down to the stockroom, so I’ll give you two a few moments.” 

Once Mitra was gone, Strickler growled to himself, clenching his fist against the table.

“Walter.” She warned.

“They were targeting _you,_ love.”

“You don’t know that. It could have been either of us.”

“A changeling fought among them. They knew very well that the creature would do nothing to me.”

“Honey, don’t blame yourself.”

“Oh, I very much do, Barbara. If I hadn’t been with you--”

“Don’t start with that.” She cut him off. “It might not have anything to do with someone’s personal vendetta against you or the Janus order. I’m Jim’s mother, remember? That’s reason enough for them to do this. You’re can argue all you want that I might be better off without you, but the opposite could also be true. Maybe _I’m_ the one putting _you_ at risk.” 

The air snapped with his toothy scoff. 

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

A moment found him sighing into his palm as his shoulders sank. “Yes, love, but I can’t help but feel as though I am better equipped to handle it. I’m made of stone, after all.” 

“Stone that begins to turn lifeless with the slightest exposure to sunlight. We’re both fragile in our own ways. If you’re just looking for a reason to leave, or take a break--”

“Absolutely not,” He blurted before she could continue, then sighed and closed his eyes. The fear of rejection would always be a part of her that he did battle against. “You _know_ I don’t want that.”’

“Then what _do_ you want?”

The changeling rubbed a claw against the engravings on his chin. “Oh, Barbara, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I ought not prattle on while you’re in pain.” He placed his hand on her stomach. “I just wish there was more I could have done to prevent it. Part of me hoped that after this war we might find some measure of stability in our lives. I wasn’t expecting a horse and carriage, just peace in some manner – a time for us to explore who we really are to each other. As long as I’ve lived, I should’ve known better.”

“I know,” she squeezed the knee closest to the side of her bed. “But we’ve made the best of it, haven’t we? I wouldn’t trade this for a horse and carriage if there was one.”

Looking down at her, he couldn’t hide his admiration. Infallibly, she found a way to shed light into the darkest caverns, including his heart. “That we have.” 

“C’mere, you big green goof.” She said, tugging him down by the elbow until she managed to press her lips against the side of his nose. As his arms came around her, she snaked a hand into his hair, massaging around his horns. 

“In the sickbed? You deviant.” He rubbed his forehead in circles against hers, growling affectionately. 

“Mmmm, the medicine’s kicking in.” She murmured as she kissed the base of his jaw. “I love it when you purr.”

“It’s not a purr.” He pulled back, yellow eyes soft as her hand fell away. A lanky smile curved around his teeth. “It’s a dignified rumble, thank you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Her hand clutched her side as another round came. “it’s not pink either.”

“What’s not pink?” Dr. Mitra came waltzing back in, a large, needle-tipped syringe in hand. 

Walter choked back a laugh. Barbara didn’t bother, giggling openly before hissing in pain again. 

“God, I hope that’s not for me,” she said, eyeing the syringe. 

“It’s for me,” Walter spoke as he extended his arm to the doctor.

The needle, Barbara noted, was fashioned of a clear substance. _Diamond,_ she surmised as she watched the needle push into Walter’s stony skin. He barely flinched as the doctor pulled back on the syringe. Unlike many changelings, Walter’s blood was red – lighter than most humans’, but red nonetheless – and it made him unique among his brethren. Mitra’s didn’t bother hiding his surprise as he watched the blood flow. 

“And here I thought you were all sulfur,” the yellow changeling joked as he withdrew the needle and stood. “Good, now come with me if you will, Stricklander. I have something I want to show you.”

Barbara squeezed Walter’s hand at the words. 

“I love you.” Strickler throat rumbled as he stood. Momentarily, he blocked Mitra from view with his wing as he bent down to kiss her.

“The two of you get certainly along.” Mitra murmured moments later as they ventured down the hallway.

“Yes,” Walter cleared his throat. “I rather think so.”

“I must admit, the last thing I expected to hear was that that the great Waltolomew Stricklander, leader of the Janus order, the Pale Lady’s right hand, had turned tail and eloped with some human.”

The green changeling offered a brow, but let the comment pass. “Some time ago, I might have said the same.”

“We didn’t interact all that much before," Mitra continued as he gestured Strickler into his office, “but I always imagined that your personality was just about as gentle and welcoming as that cloak of daggers you wore. I guess it’s true what they say--that those with the most spines have the softest cores." Mitra sat; Strickler followed suit. "I thought it was lunacy at first, but it turns out that you were willing to do what the rest of us would not, to fight for your own happiness. You always told us that changelings deserved better, and that we could achieve a greater life if we were willing to scratch and claw for what we believed, no matter the cost. Who knew that cost would be Morgana? In all honestly, I would not have had the guts to go against her. She was supposed to deliver us. What made you see otherwise?”

“I can’t explain it entirely. I was without Morgana’s voice for quite some time.” His voice rumbled low in memory. “Her influence over me was stronger than I imagined. Without it I felt numb, at peace, tranquil. Changelings aren’t designed to know such things. We were born out of conflict, and made to chafe against the order of this world. At first, I tried desperately to gain back The Lady’s favor," he shook his horned head, "until I realized I didn’t want it. I’d found something far more sacred.”

“I’m not going to pretend to understand the attraction.” Mitra’s head tilted as he rifled through a drawer. “More of a troll man myself, love a good brute, but I find it fascinating from a medical standpoint. The two of you are breaching unknown territory. I never got the chance to tell you after you saved my skin from those rebels, but I appreciate the opportunity I’ve been given here. I’m glad to help you in any way I can.”

“Thank you,” Walter blinked as the yellow changeling tossed a notebook on the desk, then ran through the pages until he found his mark. 

“Here,” the doctor turned the page toward Walter, revealing a set of drawings penned by own hand. “To extract the parasite, I will need an entrapment ring.” His clawed hand pointed to the correct figure. “I don’t suppose you have any of those lying around in your office, do you?”

“No,” Walter growled, eyeing the sketch. “It's been ages since. I have a feeling that I know where to find one, however. Vendel’s old dwellings.”

“Vendel? Trollmarket Vendel?”

“Yes.”

“You knew him?” Orange eyes grew wide. 

“Briefly. He threatened every inch of me, but you’d’ve been impressed with his abilities as a healer. Anyways, if there’s a ring to be found it’ll be in Trollmarket, somewhere in the healing dwell.”

Mitra sat back. “You can’t go there on your own.”

“No,” Walter sighed, scraping his palms against his forehead as he kneaded away a headache. “No I can't, and there’s no tunnel from here yet, so I’ll need assistance with the daylight." The realization of what he needed to do made him groan as the pounding in his head worsened. But for Barbara... 

"Hang on, I need to make a call..”


End file.
